


The Days of Ben

by anupalya



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Child Luke Skywalker, Cupcakes, Dreamscapes, Force Echoes, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Mentor/Protégé, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:24:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupalya/pseuds/anupalya
Summary: He waited.The sister suns of Tatooine – sisters, not twins, he thought, and then shut his eyes briefly at the thought of twins – rose and set as the days wore on.  Week after week, month after month, year after year, Obi Wan Kenobi waited.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have been thinking about posting this for a while, and with today's news of Our General's merging with The Force, I don't think I can hold it back anymore. Unfortunately, she does not feature in this story, expect for a few brief mentions. Perhaps I will write one for her next.  
> This story, however, is about grief and loss, dealing with our changing identities and self-perception, and moving on to nurture and care for those who need us -- including ourselves. In this way, I think that this story is a tribute to Carrie Fisher.  
> I hope this story marks an auspicious start to my contributions on this website.  
> May The Force be with you all. Onward!

He waited.

The sister suns of Tatooine – _sisters, not twins,_ he thought, and then shut his eyes briefly at the thought of _twins_ – rose and set as the days wore on. Week after week, month after month, year after year, Obi Wan Kenobi waited.

The sands of Tatooine stung his face, so that with each passing day he bore a greater resemblance to weather-beaten rock. The sun bleached his hair, and time and grief greyed it. The eyes that once sparkled with mischief and pride mellowed – not losing their sparkle, but taking on a more subtle sheen that reeked of sorrow, if one took the trouble to look properly.

At first, he had regularly taken up on Beru’s offer to “come around to tea, I’m sure you’re not getting any proper sustenance out there by yourself! Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re eating just fine, but there’s another kind of starvation, and tea and conversation are the only ways around it, you hear?” Obi Wan was invited to the house nearly every day to make painfully awkward small talk and coo at the squalling baby. He would sit in the cramped kitchen, a slight, sad smile fixed on his face, while Beru tried to make conversation, and Owen held baby Luke between large, calloused, and surprisingly gentle hands.

Kind-hearted Beru spoke of everything she knew to try and find common ground – a virtually impossible task, Owen had privately assured her, but she was stubborn. And so she did her best every afternoon, chattering away about water yields, taxes, and even pod racing. Obi Wan couldn’t pretend to know the first thing about any of those topics – _well, except pod racing_ …and he firmly closed his mind to the echoes of the impossibly fast engines darting across the finish line… _no, he would not talk about pod racing._ It wasn’t as if he had much to contribute to their conversations, either – neither Owen nor Beru had been involved in the wars, and what they did know, they preferred to leave in the past.

Obi Wan didn’t mind the awkwardness – he didn’t like it, exactly, but it was better than staying in his hut, alone, where the Force-echoes of Qui Gon, Mace, and the others were conspicuously absent, offering no guidance and no comfort. No, Obi Wan vastly preferred the clumsy attempts at conversation, Beru’s well-meaning smiles, Owen’s quiet concern, and Luke’s babbling to the smothering silence of his own little hut in the sea of sand.

So he went back, every day, until the day Luke said his name.

_“He’s said it a few times. At least, I think that’s what ‘ti-ru’ means, and he always looks at me when he says it, so I’m guessing he means ‘Auntie Beru.’ Owen’s become ‘lowen,’ you know, for ‘Uncle Owen?’” Beru was bouncing ten-month-old Luke on her lap, while Owen poured them all glasses of blue milk. Obi Wan accepted his with his customary half-smile and sad eyes. Owen sat down across from him and vaguely recalled that smiles were supposed to make people look younger, not older._

_“It sounds as if he takes the end of the first part of the name and the key sounds of the second part, and puts them together,” Obi Wan said. “Consistency, very admirable in one so young,” he said mock-seriously, looking into Luke’s blue eyes. Luke giggled._

_“Well, if he really is that consistent, you’ll be ‘bi-wan,’ won’t you?” asked Beru. A light came into her eyes. Luke was the one topic all three adults could speak of with ease. “Shall we try it?” Without waiting for a response, she set Luke in Obi Wan’s lap, facing him._

_“This is Obi Wan, Luke. Can you say Obi Wan?” Luke stared up at Obi Wan, his silly grin replaced by a look of concentration that sent Obi Wan back to Coruscant, and for a moment his heart clenched painfully as he watched Queen Amidala debate fiercely for the rights of her people, her lips set in a stubborn pout, her chin raised and her eyes narrowed…then he was jolted back to the present as Luke opened his mouth, and –_

_“Ben.”_

_There was a pause._

_Owen let out a gravelly chuckle. “Well, it’s not ‘bi-wan,’ but it’s close. At least you get a real name, Kenobi.”_

_Obi Wan was about to reply, when Luke said it again – “Ben!” – and then his face broke into a cocky grin that seemed to suck the air right out of Obi Wan’s lungs, a grin he had seen so often of the face of the man he had once called “brother.”_ Oh, Anakin…

He hadn’t gone back, after that day. Beru came around and scolded at first, but Owen told her to leave him be after a while – he had seen something shift in the ex-Jedi’s eyes that day, and thought that perhaps they should give him space.

He sat in his hut and tried to meditate, tried to banish the sharp edges of Anakin’s smile and the crinkles at the corners of Anakin’s eyes when he was trying so hard not to laugh at his own jokes. Seeing Padme, the woman he had respected and admired, staring up at him had been like a slap in the face. Seeing Anakin had been a punch in the gut.

The sister suns rose and set as he battled his grief and drank in the loneliness, willing himself to embrace it, accept it. And from afar, he watched Luke take his first steps on the moisture farm, watched him learn to run and learn to fall and learn to get back up.

Ben Kenobi watched, and he waited.

***************************************************

He dreamed.

In the night, they called to him, voices that he would know if he could bear to listen, but always he turned away. Ben would wake, shivering in the desert night, alone in his hut but for the voices that didn’t quite leave when the dreams were over. He never cried -- he was dry as the desert, as the plains of Tatooine, the sand that Anakin had hated… _no, mustn’t think of Anakin._

He spent his days alone, eating from his garden and occasionally making trips out to Mos Eisley when the parts on his scavenged air conditioner broke. Once, he passed a Troidarian on the street, his skin mottled with age, the electric blue faded to an aqua-green, and Ben realized with a jolt that it was Watto. He turned his head away in panic and ducked into a rough-looking cantina, intending to wait until Watto’s gravelly voice faded into the crowds. When the barkeeper demanded that he order a drink or leave, and the memory of an ancient voice had creaked in his ear – _“consume alcohol, a Jedi does not”_ – he pushed it away, and in a fit of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, Ben ordered his first Corellian ale.

It had burned, going down, and he gasped at the almost nauseating taste, but it had dulled the pain of remembering, so he ordered another and another until he fell into a pattern, drinking in time to the catchy tune being played in the corner by a race of aliens with enormous foreheads. As the night wore on, bar fights ebbed and flowed around him in a kind of dance, and Ben tried to drink the pain and sorrow and vise-like loneliness away. At last, he slumped against the counter, dead to the world.

_“Oh, my Padawan. What have you done to yourself?”_

_On any other night, Ben would have close his ears to the hum of voices, but tonight, the quiet rumble of Qui Gon Jinn cut through the alcohol-induced haze. Tonight, Ben could not ignore the voice of his master._

_In the dream, he opened his eyes and gazed at the columns of the Jedi temple. Curiously, he felt no pain. He was aware, in some part of his mind, that the temple no longer stood, and that he should be mourning its loss. Instead, he stood among the ancient pillars and breathed the dream-air, and felt at home for the first time in six years._

_“Face me, Obi Wan.”_

_He felt shy, all of a sudden, and shuffled his feet and he turned. Qui Gon was standing behind him, facing the Coruscanti sunset. Shame swooped over him, and he found himself unable to look into his old master’s eyes._

_“Ben,” he mumbled, feeling very much like a youngling. “I’m Ben, now.”_

_Qui Gon considered him. “Yes, I suppose you are.” Ben looked up and felt his stomach flip at the familiar expression – a gentle one that nonetheless pierced through all the layers of sorrow and remorse._

_“You won’t scold me for trying to be something I am not?”_

_Amazingly, Qui Gon chuckled. “But you_ are _Ben. At least, for now. Perhaps, one day, you will be Obi Wan again.” He gestured with one long, robed arm. “Let us walk, Ben Kenobi.”_

_And so they did, strolling among the columns as if they were trees in a grove. Neither seemed to feel the need to say anything. Instead, Qui Gon kept a steady pace and lead Ben through memories he had kept repressed for six years. As they walked, Ben saw the Council, saw Palpatine and his army of clones, saw Padme and Darth Maul and Anakin – cocky, brilliant Anakin! – and he allowed himself to remember._

_They circled the temple once, and came back to the open side that faced the City and let in the sunset. The old pain bled away, slid off of Ben like water on oil, and was absorbed by the stone of the temple steps. He turned to face Qui Gon._

_“I have to go back, don’t I?”_

_Qui Gon paused. “Back to the waking world, or back to Luke?”_

_“Both, I suppose.”_

_Qui Gon studied him as he had before, but this time with a half-smile that gentled the piercing eyes. “You will soon wake, and leave this mirror world, Ben. We all must wake up sooner or later and face the light.”_

_“Even you?”_

_Qui Gon’s half-smile broadened into a full grin. “But Padawan, I_ am _awake. Perhaps I will visit you in my dreams.”_

_Ben frowned. “And Luke?”_

_His master’s grin faded. “Ah, yes. The boy.” Looking out over the city, his gaze grew wistful. “Perhaps you will one day grow to see him as his own person, rather than an offshoot of his father. But Ben,” and his eyes grew sharp again, “you must remember…Luke and Leia’s father was Anakin Skywalker, not Darth Vader.”_

_Ben ignored the pang at Leia’s name and pushed aside his curiosity about the other twin, his remorse at never knowing the baby that had looked at him almost reproachfully as he handed her to Bail Organa with little hope of ever seeing her again. “_ Was _, you say? Not_ is _?”_

_“Was. Anakin Skywalker died years ago. Or at least…” And his eyes grew sad again. “Mourn the loss of your brother and Padawan, and forgive me – can you forgive me? – for setting him down the wrong path all those years ago.”_

_“Of course. But…”_

_“Yes?”_

_Ben glanced about the temple, suddenly a shy youngling again. “May I come back sometime?”_

_An almost reproachful look. “You came back nearly every night, but you sat in the corner with your eyes shut and your fingers in your ears.” And again, Ben blushed._

_“I’ll do better, then. I’ll come back and speak with you.”_

_“You may come back as often as you need, but you mustn’t forget that you live in the waking world.”_

_“Yes, Master.” Ben smiled, tentatively, up at Qui Gon, and Qui Gon smiled back, even as the temple around them began to blur and fade._

He woke to a scaly hand shaking him, and before he could get his bearings, Ben was shocked to find himself throwing up on the shoes of the equally surprised bartender. Their shared astonishment reached new heights when Ben subsequently burst into loud, wracking sobs – his first tears in six years.

The disgusted bartender tossed him out, and he somehow stumbled back to his speeder and –miraculously – made it home in one piece. He made a pitiful sight: drunk, sobbing, and covered in vomit, but when day finally broke over the little hut in the sand and the sister suns of Tatooine rudely announced their presence by nearly splitting open his hungover skull, somewhere, at the very back of his mind, Ben felt better than he had in years.

He made the trek back to Owen’s moisture farm, after cleaning himself up (although he could have sworn Beru could still smell the ale, from the sharp look she gave him). He had been greeted at the door by a lisping six-year-old with one missing tooth, a cap of dirty blond curls, eyes as clear as the lakes of Naboo, and a toy pod-racer clutched in one hand. For the first time, Obi Wan saw not Anakin and Padme’s son, but Luke.

And the days passed. Owen and Beru had him for tea every now and then, but now that he did not fear his own solitude, Ben felt that he should not impose on them as often. Owen privately drew him aside and growled at him in no uncertain terms that if he became a fixture in Luke’s life and then left again, he would not be welcome back – and so, at least twice a week, Ben would lie on his stomach on the floor and play with Luke and his model speeders. At night Ben visited with Qui Gon and the others and occasionally cried dream-tears in his dream-world.

Ben Kenobi slept, and he dreamed.

*******************************************************

He knew.

The years wore on, never stopping or slowing, and Ben watched with a keen eye as Luke grew up. The short, chubby frame stretched and thinned, like the Stewjoni taffy of his early childhood. It wasn’t long before a lanky blonde eleven-year-old, all sharp elbows and pointy knees, was making his way across the dunes to visit Ben in his own little hut.

Luke and Ben would sit for as long as the days allowed – most days, Luke was either weighed down with his homework or chores from the moisture farm, so his visiting schedule was irregular at best and nonexistent at worst. However, Ben was always there, with open arms and a wide smile that belied his rapidly greying hair. Even after Luke became “too old for hugs, Ben, I’m not a baby anymore!” he would still consent to having his hair ruffled and his newly acquired height exclaimed over before trooping inside.

Luke would talk and Ben would listen, bustling about the cramped kitchen to scrounge up some snacks while Luke heated a pot of tea. Ben knew what Owen and Beru had told Luke about his father – _navigator on a spice freighter, indeed!_ – and he reluctantly went along with the lie, never confirming or denying it, but staying away from the subject entirely. Luke would beg for stories – _old Ben tells the_ best _stories_ – and Ben would oblige him, with tales of pilots and heroes, far off worlds and distant races…and never a word about the wars until one day, when Luke was fourteen.

 _Ben was immersed in the very delicate task of Making Pastries. The sweet, crumbling cakes, each made to be a perfect serving size in an individual cup, were one of the few things he remembered of his life on Stewjon –_ cupcakes, _his mother had called them. He remembered her smile, and her voice when she laughed, and her love of the cupcakes that he now shared with Luke Skywalker._

_Carrying the finished desserts to the table, he sat himself down just in time to save Luke from scalding his tongue yet again on his tea._

_“Patience, Luke.” Luke grinned sheepishly. “Patience” was something he’d never had much of, and Ben knew it._

_Ben, with some effort, did not roll his eyes. “Tell me, my young friend, what are they teaching you in school these days?”_

_Usually, when Ben asked Luke about school, he was immediately regaled with excited chatter, complaints, and the occasional question on the details of some Mechanical Property of Something or Other. He was not prepared, therefore, for a sudden and fluid transition from Sheepish-And-Mild-Mannered-Young-Man to a definitive Sulk-That-Is-The-Exclusive-Province-Of-Fourteen-Year-Old-Boys. Somewhat baffled by this change, Ben leaned forward and managed to catch the sound of “Clone Wars” mumbled from the corner of Luke’s mouth._

_Ben had known this day would come; it was the duty, after all, of the older generations to pass on the knowledge of their blunders in the hopes that the younger generations would avoid making the same mistakes. Luke would read about the Clone Wars, not knowing that his mother had fought alongside the Clone Armies, and write essays about Order 66, not knowing that his own father had been its executor – and executioner._

_He paused._

_Luke didn’t know anything about his parents’ involvement in the Clone Wars and the fall of the Republic. So why did it seem as if he had suddenly folded in on himself? Ben tilted his head to the side and took in the sorry picture before him – Luke was slouched forward with his eyes downcast, and was now fiddling with the hem of his tunic, as sullen as Anakin had ever been. Ben marveled that the thought did not cause him pain anymore, before realizing that he should probably say something._

_“Luke?” Luke’s eyes flicked upwards._

_“Uncle Owen gets mad when I talk about the Clone Wars. Won’t even let me ask about them for my essays. I nearly failed the last one!” Ah. So that was it. Ben felt a sudden and unaccountable urge to slap Owen Lars upside the head with a dinner plate. Oh, that misguided fool, gentle giant though he may be! The best way to pique curiosity in the young – and not so young – was to forbid all discussion on the subject. Add a little resentment, as Luke clearly had, and Ben was left with a fresh recipe for disaster that he must now attempt to wash down with stories, tea, and cupcakes. Curse Owen for a fool._

_When he spoke, his voice was even. “What do you need to know?”_

_The stories he told that day were different – there were no heroes or villains. There were only people who killed and were killed, although he made sure to never give specifics, and never, ever, mention names. At one point, he had to get up to search the house for a tablet for Luke to take notes on, and he rummaged through the trinkets that had somehow accumulated through the years for a good five minutes after he had found it, just to put off the inevitable._

_It felt like days before either of them realized the time. As he approached the door, borrowed tablet clutched tightly in hand, Luke hesitated, then turned._

_“I want to be a pilot.” And the flash in his eyes could have belonged to Padme as she insisted on being included in the landing party to Mos Eisley._

_“I thought you might.”_

_“Uncle Owen won’t approve.”_

_“I imagine he won’t.”_

_Luke gave a little nod, as if he had confirmed some suspicion, and turned back to the door. At the threshold, he paused again, and spoke without turning back around._

_“Why did Uncle Owen get mad about my Clone Wars essay?” Softly, bitterly._

_Curse him for a_ fool.

_“He wants to protect you from reality. But history, Luke, is a wise teacher. You would do well to listen to it.”_

_Ben found himself trekking up to the farm the next day, but he may as well have beat his head against the rock faces for the good it did him. Owen was steadfast in his decision to protect Luke as best he could, even if it meant keeping him ignorant. Slowly, he began implying around the dinner table that “Ben’s mind really isn’t what it used to be,” that “Luke should really hang out more with friends his own age,” that “I need your help with the farm.” This went on for months, and Luke found himself with less and less time to make the trek to Ben’s hut._

_Ben found Luke at the door nearly a year later, a little taller, with his eyes a little brighter and his hair a bit straighter. He was still all elbows and knees, but he managed them better with a year’s practice and extra chores, and if his voice occasionally squeaked…Ben pretended not to notice._

_“I know what he’s doing.” Ben stepped aside and Luke entered the hut with his eyes flashing and his chin held high in a fifteen-year-old’s defiance of the world. He stared at Ben, clearly irritated by his silence, then spoke again. “He doesn’t want me coming out here to see you.”_

_“He wants to protect you.”_

_“Protect me from what? I know he didn’t want me learning about the wars, but why do I need protecting from you?!”_

_“He wants to protect you from yourself, Luke!” The boy’s eyes widened, and his lips parted. Ben sighed gently, and motioned for Luke to sit. “Owen is a man who believes that ignorance is bliss, and that the harsh realities of the past would corrupt your young mind.”_

_“You already told me that, the last time I was here.” Luke threw a wary glance his way._

_“While you were at school the next day, I visited your Uncle and tried to make him see reason.” Luke’s eyes flew up at this, and comprehension dawned across his tanned face. His features began to twist in anger, and Ben quickly changed the subject. “How did you convince your Uncle to let you come?”_

_Luke sighed, and squirmed in his seat. “He didn’t exactly say I couldn’t…but he’s been keeping me so busy that I haven’t had time to do much else. Aunt Beru let me out today, but…” They both knew that this would be Luke’s last visit for a long time._

_Ben rose from his seat and crossed the tiny room in two short steps, then knelt before Luke’s chair and cupped his face in his hands. Luke flicked his eyes upwards in surprise at the sudden contact, but did not move away._

_“Listen to me, Luke. I promise, one day, I will tell you everything you want to know, anything questions I can answer. I make this promise with no doubts in my heart because I know for certain that we will see each other again.” Luke’s eyes began to shine as they filled with tears, likening their resemblance to the clear waters of Naboo. “You must go back to the farm when this day is done, and you must listen to your uncle. Train hard at school and help your aunt at home, and grow to be someone we will all be proud of.” Ben stood slowly, and gently lifted his hands from Luke’s face. Luke closed his eyes and took a deep breath._

_Ben smiled. “Shall we make cupcakes?”_

Five years passed before Ben saw Luke again. His heart had caught in his throat when he had come across the crumpled form lying in the dust as the Sand People looted his speeder. After driving the assailants off, Ben had knelt by the young man – and his heart had rejoiced at seeing his boy, his Luke, as a young man! – and brushed the sand from his face, and sighed audibly when Luke sat up. He had barely kept his calm demeanor and lighthearted warnings in place at the joyous recognition in the now twenty-year-old Luke’s eyes…

…and then Luke had spoke the name he had shed nineteen years ago, and Ben’s knees had given out as he took his first proper look at the little R2 unit that had been hiding in the shadows.

They now sat in his hut once again – Ben, Luke, R2D2, and a battered C-3PO, another startling face from the past. The droid that Anakin had crafted as a child to help his mother now sat, obliviously chattering on about sand and Sand People and masters, in Ben’s cramped living room next to his former master’s son. Only years of training and meditation kept him from bubbling over with un-Jedi-like hysterics at the irony.

It was time, Ben knew it was time, so why was he hesitant? He glanced at Luke, his heart swelling with pride. Yes, there was Anakin’s hair, and there were Padme’s eyes, but he was _Luke_. He was still a bit coltish around the edges, and his open face radiated naiveté, but he had unmistakably grown into his own person. _He is ready,_ Ben told himself firmly, and crossed the room to retrieve Anakin’s light saber.

He ignored the pangs, the prickles, and the stings of the past as he _finally_ told Luke of the Force, and the truth about Luke’s father – albeit a highly edited version. The pain had dulled considerably over the years, but it pulsed now, not with bitterness, but deep, deep sadness.

And then R2 began play the recorded message, and _it was Leia,_ little baby Leia as he had never seen her, a proud and graceful young woman that radiated authority and determination, like her mother, and the set of her mouth and glint in her eyes so like her father. _Help me,_ she said, _you’re my only hope,_ and she too called him by his Jedi name, and he felt the Force calling with her, calling to him once again to take up his saber and enter the fight, and he _knew._

“You must learn the ways of the Force, if you are to come with me to Alderaan,” said Obi Wan Kenobi.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments bring me joy!


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